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I do not own the Avengers or anyone therein.

Trigger warnings: drug use, past abusive relationships

Chapter 6
He fumbles, drops his keys, scrabbles for them blindly, and manages to get the key in the door the second time despite how his hands shake and tremble. The apartment is dark, cold, Natasha must be out, and he hits his shin on the coffee table. He is gasping and crying and everything hurts.

He stumbles into his bedroom, tears open the dresser, looking—there. Needles and liquid happiness, sweet Morphia, who doesn't hurt him and betray him and make him have all these stupid feelings, and he doesn't deserve any better.

Steve is right; Tony deserves more.

He shoves it into a bag, grabs a different shirt, and he doesn't have another coat (Tony has it, it is hanging in Tony's foyer), but it doesn't even matter.

Twenty-five year old failure.

His phone rings in his pocket and he takes it out and throws it (it doesn't matter where, just away) before going out the door.

XXXXXX

Natasha frowns at her phone.

"He not answer?"

"Phone cut off mid-ring."

"Do you want to go check on him?"

Natasha frowns a little more, then shakes her head. She kisses Pepper and grins a little slyly.

"Probably is on a date. Maybe he's getting lucky. Maybe like someone else I know?"

Pepper laughs before they kiss, tumbling into bed.

XXXXXX

"Tony," Steve says, just outside the locked door. His head is pounding this morning and he feels terrible. And it's not just physical terrible—he can't get the sound of the door slamming out of his head and he hates himself for losing control, more for losing control when he was the one who had set them up on that first date.

He should have been prepared for Tony to fall in love.

"Tony, answer me."

There's the sound of something shattering against the door. Steve decides that's good enough and leaves to make himself coffee and take painkillers and try to figure out what he's going to say to Loki when the green-eyed waiter showed up to work at two.

XXXXXX

Natasha frowns a little when she feels how easily the key turns—no familiar weight of the lock turning—and pushes the door open. She needs to remind him again to lock it after coming home late; it's not unusual. She's humming a little, some chocolate babka from work in a box, coffee balanced on top.

"Loki, I've got your favourite," she calls, not really expecting an answer. She sets the babka box in the kitchen, gets her coffee to go check on him when she feels something crunch beneath her feet. Jumping back, she laughs a little—Loki's phone, broken from where it had smashed into the wall. Another phone down. Loki really had gotten lucky; about damn time. She is grinning as she goes to check on him now because this is something their friendship has not had yet.

Loki's door is open, a dresser drawer still open. He's not in bed—in fact, his bed is still mostly made. She checks his closet, finds his duffel bag missing and her stomach clenches. Teeth starting to grind together, she digs through the drawer, knowing what she's looking for; it's not there. She dumps all the clothes on the floor, but that's all there are, clothes.

"Fuck," she swears and searches through the rest of the apartment, but Loki isn't there (not even curled under her bed in the corner like he had a few times when crashing and trying to detox again and failing and she'd help him but she has no idea where he even gets his drugs).

Calendar. She checks it, and there's Loki's schedule, written in his neat curling script—2 pm-11pm. She takes a steadying breath; she'll call Steve then. Make sure he shows up to work. It's not the first time Loki has decided he needs to get away from the apartment, and he's very good at showing up to work.

It is okay. There is nothing to panic over. Loki is fine.

XXXXXX

Cat green eyes open, pupils blown wide, and pale fingers fumble into his bag. He's shivering a little and light is coming in through the window too brightly, too painful (like the hospital lights that night, Natasha holding one of his hands and everything hurting). He gets a syringe, gets the small ampule, and manages despite shaking hands to fill it. He flicks it, watches air bubbles slide up, makes sure to get them out with an easy practice. His mouth is dry and he feels like he's going to vomit and if he never sees another cocktail it will be too soon, but a few minutes later he relaxes; the syringe falls out of his hand.

Cat green eyes close.

XXXXXX

It's 2:15 and Steve keeps glancing at the clock.

"Anyone heard from Loki?" he asks, but no one has.

His phone rings in his office, and he darts in.

"Steve." Natasha's voice is cool, reserved.

"Natasha," he says, hope dashed. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Loki there?"

Steve feels his stomach sink.

"No. I was hoping it was him calling." He rubs the back of his neck.

Twenty-five year old failure.

"If he shows up, call me, please." Still cold and cool.

XXXXXX

Tony groans as his phone rings, making his head feel like it's splitting in two. For a few blessed moments, he doesn't remember anything.

The phone is still ringing and he grabs it.

Steve.

He remembers last night. He doesn't answer it, but silence barely returns before it's ringing again.

Steve.

"What the fuck do you want?" Tony snarls.

"Has Loki gotten in touch with you?"

"No, fuck you." He nearly hangs up, but something stops him. "Why?" he asks grudgingly.

"Loki hasn't shown up to work."

"Yeah and I bet that makes you feel just peachy."

"Natasha called. I don't think he's gone home." Steve's voice is quiet, firm, familiar calm that grounds Tony whenever he's angry. Reaches through the rage and snags reason around the throat.

"What?" His mouth is dry and not just from the hangover.

"I don't think he went home. And he hasn't shown up to work."

"Yeah well, good riddance, since all I do is the worst possible thing."

There's silence on the other end and Tony takes the moment to look at his phone. 2:45.

"Tony, I'm sorry."

Tony grunts.

"I'll talk to you later."

Tony doesn't say goodbye, he just hangs the phone up and stares at the ceiling—alone in his bed, which was not how things had looked like they were going to go before Steve decided it was the best possible time to tell him how he felt while drunk. Loki is gone. Maybe gone for good.

You always do the worst possible thing for yourself.

He forces himself out of bed. Shower, water, painkillers. Then he was going to need to try and at least find Loki.

I don't think he went home. And he hasn't shown up to work.

XXXXXX

"Natasha?" Pepper asks. "He'll turn up. He always does."

"In the hospital?"

Pepper frowns at how bleak Natasha's voice sounds.

"This isn't your fault. You were trying to help."

"I should have checked on him."

"He's not a child. He'll show up."

Natasha smiles, probably trying to be reassuring, but Pepper doesn't comment that she can see through it.

"I'll call Tony and find out what happened, okay? And no dismembering Tony till we find Loki and make sure he's okay, okay?"

Natasha smiles at her, and Pepper leaves her in the bedroom to try and get some sleep. She picks up her phone, waits on Tony to pick up. They've always done little things to make sure they knew each others numbers but never commented on it and never actually called each other. Pepper couldn't imagine an entirely Tony-free life; he had managed to become too much a part of it in that fiery relationship in college, too intense to easily get away from.

It's four in afternoon.

"Pepper?" Tony sounds confused, the sound of wind and traffic in the background.

"Anthony Stark, just what the hell happened last night?"

There's silence other than the sound of wind and traffic.

"Stark," she says, voice full of warning.

Tony tells her. His voice is raw and he's clearly just barely holding together, and she realizes he's outside because he's going to all the places he can think of that Loki had taken him on their dates, and the places Tony took Loki, because Tony doesn't know Loki or his habits or how Loki will just go and hide in some rundown hotel and fall apart alone and not out in public to think on the past. Because he doesn't know that all Loki wants to do is run away from his past even as it constantly reminds him and breaks him down over and over and over, in every single little action that he takes.

She's a little jealous. Tony hadn't come running after her.

"Thank you," she says, and she means it. "I'll let you know if he turns up here, okay?"

"Thank you, Pep. You're amazing. I'll call you if I find him."

Pepper hangs up and stands there for a few minutes, because when she goes back Natasha is going to want to know what Tony said and she doesn't know how to tell her. It's her job to tell things to people and to make it look pretty, but there is no silver lining for last night.

XXXXXX

"You motherfucking bastard."

Steve is nearly a foot taller than Natasha, bigger and stronger, but that doesn't stop her as she barges into his kitchen and punches him. The rest of the kitchen—and it's late, just one other on the line and the dishwasher—stop and stare, mouths hanging open. Steve grunts. When he tries to grab Natasha's fist, she uses her weight and body to grab his arm and flip him onto his back on the ground, keeping his arm in hand, one foot planting on his shoulder so that if he tries to move he's going to hurt himself badly.

"You fucking cocksucking fucker, I fucking trusted you. I could have called anyone to get him a job, a change of pace, but I called you because you've always been the rational one, the kind one, because you would watch out for him and you fucking said all that shit in front of him."

"Natasha," he says, quietly.

She snaps her mouth shut, face closing off and tight even though her eyes are still flaring with rage. She steps off of him and lets go of his arm at the same time, just crosses her arms and glares at him as he pushes himself off the ground. He rubs his wrist, rolls his shoulder out, and all Natasha can think is 'good' because Loki still hasn't shown back up and other than one ATM withdrawal of cash, he's not using his debit card. Steve glances around his kitchen and waves for them to go back to work, then gestures for Natasha to come out back onto the loading dock with him.

"I'm not sorry," she says evenly, pulling back on the urge to break Steve in half because he's hurt Loki.

"I don't expect you to be. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I set them up because he made Tony smile like he hadn't in a while; I should have thought more about how I felt and I didn't. So I'm sorry. Really and truly sorry." Steve is looking at her when he says it, and she grinds her teeth a little before sighing. Unlike most people, she knows Steve means it when he apologizes. "And I'll tell him as much."

She looks down at the ground, runs a hand through her hair.

"You don't have to be sorry." He's got this self-disparaging smile on his face and Natasha relaxes the rest of the way.

"He's just… he's had it rough, okay?"

"Would you tell me, if I asked?"

Natasha frowns at him, debating. If Tony found Loki first, then someone would need to know what to expect, to not be surprised by the mess they are going to get.

"No," she says slowly. "It's not my story to tell. He'll tell it when he's ready to, and I won't take that from him. But." She pauses for emphasis, though she probably doesn't need it with Steve. "But. It's involved a lot of being told he's worth nothing and not good enough, for long enough that he believes it. To his core. That his opinions and his wants don't matter at all. And when you went off on Tony, saying all the things he already believes, he agreed with you. It's why he left.

"And he doesn't want leaving to hurt, because he thinks it's true, but it does. I have literally never seen him that happy before he met Tony, and he's trying to walk away because he thinks it's what's best for Tony and that he doesn't deserve something that good."

Steve is frowning at somewhere just off the edge of the delivery dock.

"Call me if you find him." Natasha lets Steve keep staring off in the distance. She hops off the delivery dock, planning on just walking back around front to where her car is.

"We will."

XXXXXX

He can feel himself starting to crash, and gropes blindly through his bag.